


leave behind my name and age

by pinkcapris



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Butt Plugs, Coming In Pants, First Time Blow Jobs, Frottage, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 17:25:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11605362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkcapris/pseuds/pinkcapris
Summary: “I don’t - I haven’t, I mean,” Peter says. His face heats up as he admits it. “I mean, I’ve never - I haven’t. Girls, I mean, but.” He stops himself as Mr. Stark reaches down, tilting his chin and redirecting his gaze up with a single finger, and Peter burns white hot at what he sees there."Well," Mr. Stark asks, unzipping his pants, "what kind of a mentor would I be if I didn’t teach you, then, if I just sent you out into the world unprepared?"





	leave behind my name and age

So this is a thing now, and Peter is both nervous and so inhumanly turned on that he almost worries he's been bitten by something else, some kind of radioactive boner or whatever, that has cursed him with - well, he's getting ahead of himself.  
  
What happens is that Mr. Stark isn’t subtle, and Peter knows he’s not subtle either. But God, he - he wants. For every hint Mr. Stark drops, Peter wants ten more; every look Mr. Stark gives him, Peter flushes a little bit, but at the same time, he knows. He knows what it means, and what he wants, and so it leads, in time, to this text, encrypted on the special phone Mr. Stark gave him, “Just for messages between us” -   
  
Peter tries not to check that phone more than once or twice a day. But the thing is, Mr. Stark would obviously be annoyed if he didn’t text back promptly. And slowly, over time, Peter starts to push the boundaries: a suggestive emoji here, a double entendre there. It’s almost a joke at first. Like, Mr. Stark is mad old. He probably doesn’t even know what emojis _are_ . And yet.   
  
And yet!   
  
Ultimately, Peter knows he brought this on himself. He’s been text-flirting hard all week, and Mr. Stark’s guard has dropped, little by little - Peter knows he must want this as much as he does himself. So he pushes it just a little more.   
  
_What does your weekend look like?_ Mr. Stark texts, and Peter ruminates over that one for a few minutes, before typing:   
  
_Empty. Unless you wanna fill it up_   
  
He hits send, then appends a single eggplant emoji. Mr. Stark’s reply is several minutes coming, and only one word: _Jesus_ .   
  
Peter’s pulse speeds up at the speech bubble disappearing and reappearing underneath that word. It was stupid, he took too much of a chance, shit, Peter, you’re a total _moron_  -   
  
_When the buzzer rings, answer it,_ says Mr. Stark’s next missive. _The package is for you._   
  
_Wear it on Friday. But not before then._   
  
The package, which arrives some twenty minutes later by messenger, is small and lightweight. Peter rips it open as soon as he’s safely in his room, and - oh, God.   
  
The plug is small, but dense, incredibly heavy, and there’s a brilliant red jewel set into the flared end. Peter’s eyes dart over to the suit stuffed into his closet, just an inch of fabric peeking through the overloaded doors that can’t quite close for all the junk he’s got crammed in there. Then back to the plug. Back to the suit again. It’s a perfect match.   
  
It really is heavy in his hand. Peter tightens his fist around it, his cock stiffening as he thinks about putting this -- _it_ \-- inside him. There’s a little bottle in the package as well. Lube. _Fuck_.   
  
“Um,” Peter says out loud to himself, and he's surprised by how shaky his voice comes out, “okay.”   
  
  
*   
  
  
On Friday, he slips into a stall in the library bathroom, plug and lube tucked safely away in his backpack. His stomach flutters; his cock is already hard.   
  
He starts out with a single finger, just like he has the past few nights, pretending it’s Mr. Stark. One finger, slick with the lube from the package, doesn’t feel like much, and truth be told the plug itself isn’t even much bigger than Peter’s forefinger, so when he feels like he’s done an adequate job, he drizzles even more lube over the body of the metal plug and presses it inside him.   
  
Fuck. It feels so different from his own fingers, so deceptively heavy, an intrusion his body immediately marks as foreign. He clenches around it immediately, then gasps at how good it feels, opening him up. He slides his hand around to grip the base of his cock, gasping as he squeezes. He has no idea how he’s gonna make it into Manhattan at this rate. The rattle of the subway alone is going to undo him.   
  
The walk from the 7 train to Stark Tower normally isn’t too long, but with the plug inside him, Peter feels like he’s about to go off with every step. He’s got Andy Samberg stuck in his head with every step, willing himself not to jizz in his pants before he gets to Mr. Stark’s.    
  
“You’ve been teasing me,” Mr. Stark says after a few minutes of brief pleasantries as he opens the door to his bedroom, and then pulls Peter inside, as though he can't stand to hesitate any longer. He’s holding Peter at arm’s length, as though he’s a dog who might bite. Turned on as he is, Peter can’t make any promises.   
  
“Guilty,” Peter says, and Mr. Stark cocks a brow.   
  
“You really want this, huh, kid,” he says. Not a question, but a statement of fact. “You’re not even seventeen -”   
  
“I’m _six_ teen,” Peter says, and Mr. Stark closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “Jesus,” he mutters, more to himself than to Peter, but Peter spies an opportunity -   
  
It’s just that Mr. Stark’s lips are right there, his neck’s tilted back and exposed, and Peter hasn’t thought about anything else in weeks, he’s been stiff as a fucking rod all afternoon and in practically every moment that he’s thought about this these past several weeks too, and now it’s right there, in front of him, inside him, and he just has to - take it.   
  
Mr. Stark’s lips are right there, and suddenly Peter’s are on them, and it’s literally everything he hoped it would be.   
  
For his part, Mr. Stark takes the lead pretty fast, letting the kiss go from tentative to hot and hard and fast on a second’s notice. He cups the back of Peter’s neck and nips at his bottom lip, and when Peter, obediently, opens his mouth with a little gasp, there’s tongue, and heat, and fuck, it’s so good, he could kiss Tony Stark forever, he thinks, except:

Mr. Stark puts him on his knees with one more kiss, and smirks a little down at Peter, who can’t

"You need to practice sucking my cock," Mr. Stark says, the humiliating words sinking deep under Peter's skin.  "I’m sure you’ve had your high school fun before now, but you need to learn how a man likes his cock sucked."  
  
“I don’t - I haven’t, I mean,” Peter says. His face heats up as he admits it. “I mean, I’ve never - I haven’t. Girls, I mean, but.” He stops himself as Mr. Stark reaches down, tilting his chin and redirecting his gaze up with a single finger, and Peter burns white hot at what he sees there.

"Well," Mr. Stark asks, unzipping his pants, "what kind of a mentor would I be if I didn’t teach you, then, if I just sent you out into the world unprepared?"

Jeez. His cock - Peter doesn’t even know where to begin. He bites the inside of his cheek as he moves his hand to Mr. Stark’s cock, fat and hard and hot in his hand, and strokes it once, twice, noting the way Mr. Stark exhales, his eyes sliding shut as he spreads his legs. Breathes, breathes again, thinks about porn and tips and everything he’s ever fantasized about, and gathers his confidence. He can, like, totally do this. He saved the _world_ a few months ago. He’s pretty sure he can suck a dick. Not like he hasn’t been thinking about it for years. And he can do a good job for Mr. Stark. He has to do a good job. He can do it.

He shifts between Mr. Stark’s legs, spread wide to accommodate him as Mr. Stark leans back against the wall. Technically, or whatever, he knows what the next steps are, and his stomach is all nerves – excited and scared at the same time – but it takes him a moment, and the look Mr. Stark casts down at him, teeth dug into his lower lip and eyes dazed and cloudy, gets to him. He gives it a moment before he ducks his head and gingerly along Mr. Stark’s cock - salty, hot - before taking into his mouth, sucking gently on the head.

“Oh, fuck,” Mr. Stark says, and Peter lifts his gaze; as Mr. Stark thunks his head back against the wall. Peter closes his eyes and takes him a little deeper, slowly and intuitively, feeling the weight of Mr. Stark’s cock in his mouth, tasting him. He’s not small, but he’s not too long, either, and Peter eases down with enthusiasm until he’s taken him to the root, head just nudging the back of his throat, and clenches a fist (just like he read online) to stifle his gag reflex as he buries his nose into the thatch of curls at the base. Breathes in again, taking in the scent, all of Mr. Stark, all of him, this is so cool and he’s doing such a good job and it’s so hot, he thinks breathlessly, before Mr. Stark moves just a centimeter and he chokes in shock.   
  
Gasping, Peter pulls off for a moment, breathes in deep and ragged through his mouth, and Mr. Stark lets out an odd little breath before Peter ducks back down to take him back into his mouth, chasing his cock with his lips.

“You’re so pretty,” Mr. Stark tells him, running his thumb over Peter's cracked, drooling lips where they're wrapped around the base of his dick. “I can only imagine everyone you meet will want to put you on your knees.” Peter moans around his cock, shuddering under the weight of the words. Everyone. He thinks about all of Mr. Stark’s friends, everyone he’s met. The Avengers. Jeez, he can’t mean - “I just want to teach you,” Mr. Stark murmurs, cutting off Peter’s train of thought as he strokes his face. “Teach you to be the best you can be.”

He's choking and pitching forward and gagging himself and swallowing around Mr. Stark’s cock, all enthusiasm. He knows he can’t do this much longer. Mr. Stark takes his face between his hands and holds him steady, gently, fucking into his mouth just a little bit, and Peter wants it, wants him to come down his throat before he can’t take it anymore, and then Mr. Stark takes his hand away, reaches into his pocket -  
  
There’s a brief moment of complete silence, and then the plug in his ass begins to vibrate.

God, he's making humiliating sounds, pained and desperate and his throat is closing around Mr. Stark's cock and he's trying, he's trying so hard and failing, and the humiliation and arousal all at play at once are almost too much. He feels Mr. Stark’s hands tighten around his face and he thrusts deep into Peter's throat, holding him down so his nose presses into his groin as he comes and comes. And Peter takes it, takes it like he has no other choice, When he lets off Peter pulls back and coughs, threads of jizz dangling from Tony's cock to his lips.

“God, look at you, you’re so beautiful,” Mr. Stark says, holding him steady by the chin, and Peter burns hotter. “Sloppy little mess. I wish I could take a photo, God knows it’d last a lot longer, but... You want to come, don’t you?”  
  
“Oh my God, yes,” Peter says, much too quickly, and Mr. Stark laughs again. Peter’s hips are undulating, thrusting up uselessly, trying to get some friction on his cock as he clenches around the plug vibrating in his ass. Trying to grind on Mr. Stark’s leg, his shoe, anything. He feels feverish, white hot all over, like he might run out of air or his blood might boil before he gets off -   
  
“You do, don’t you,” Mr. Stark says, sounding almost amused. “Go ahead, beg me. Tell me how much you want it.”   
  
Peter takes a shaky breath, but the words aren’t coming. “So much,” is all he manages, hips hitching up as the vibrator goes up in frequency. “Please,” he chokes, and fuck, it’s too much, all he can think is _I’ve been so good_ , but the words die on his lips.

Mr. Stark just extends his leg a little further and cocks a brow, looking down at him all imperiously. "Go ahead, but watch yourself."   
  
And then he does. Peter comes in his pants with a shriek, grinding against Mr. Stark’s leg and clenching around the plug inside him. “Please,” he sobs with dry mouth and eyes. “Please, Mr. Stark, I’ve been so good, I’ll be so good, please, thank you -”  
  
“Thank _you_ ,” he hears in response, before he collapses, on hands and knees over Mr. Stark’s left calf.  
  
There’s some semblance of normalcy afterward, an attempt at decency. Mr. Stark - Tony - no, it still doesn’t feel quite right, calling him that - cleans him up, lets him change clothes, sits him down on the couch with dinner. And all the while, the heavy, unspoken word hangs like static in the air: _More?_   
  
“Is it vibranium?” Peter asks around a mouthful of pizza, and Mr. Stark frowns.  
  
“The plug?” Mr. Stark asks. “No. It’s stainless steel.” He chuckles. “C’mon, kid. You’re special, but you’re not that special.”  
  
“Yet,” says Peter impishly, and sees, from the corner of his eye, Mr. Stark choke on a sip of sparkling water.  
  
It’s like Pringles, Peter thinks. Once you pop, you can’t stop. Shit. He’s going to have so much fun with this.


End file.
